Deep Tenebrosity
by GemstoneProductions99
Summary: This is a one-shot story recounting the events of 5x13, when Mordred and Arthur last meet on the battlefield. I felt Mordred and Arthur's confrontation was cut short, so I've extended it. Arthur whump. Post magic reveal. Rated T for detailed gore and injuries. DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO FEEL SQUEAMISH!


**Author's Notes**

**I've been wanting to write a battle sequence for ages, so, upon rewatching the final series, I had a go. I was a bit miffed that there was no epic fight between Arthur and Mordred, which is my main reason to write this story. I want to also point out that the outcome doesn't change beyond that scene, it will mostly stay the same. Some minor changes are thrown in too, such as**** the magic reveal appearing sometime prior to the Battle of Camlann.**

**So, without further ado, here is my interpretation of what could have been an epic fight to the death and Arthur still coming to terms with learning about Merlin's magic. ****Enjoy! :)**

* * *

**Deep Tenebrosity**

_A Merlin story_

Madness. That was the word he'd been looking for. Madness.

How could a knight, of all people, betray someone so...willingly? Even after the death of someone close to them? That kind of gesture was beyond ridiculous. And yet, it was for a very believable reason, as stupid as that might be to him.

_The knight's ray of sunshine was their so-called "beloved"; so the name suggested. A false name, for under that cutesy exterior emerged a murderous being. She'd caused the deaths of many an innocent inhabitant of Camelot, including saxons, through her hatred of the king. Many see her as a monster, but a monster she was not to the knight. She claimed in front of the court that the deaths were merely "casualties of war", but the king wasn't so easily outwitted and had the ruthless girl hanged, to the knight's dismay._

_Despite the king saving their life many years ago, the knight, believing that they'd been betrayed by the hands of the king's friendship and loyalty, turned against him, and began craving for nothing more than to avenge their beloved's death and destroy everything that moves, including the king. __Thus, the knight ultimately sided with a cocky seer and set about burning the kingdom to the ground and murdering the lives of innocent people in a similar fashion to how their beloved would kill her victims. __This was all done not only so they could protect the one they love, but purely so they could bring power, justice and morality to the kingdom._

If only he hadn't been so _foolish_. He should've thought better than to have knighted that liar. That _traitor_.

King Arthur huffed despondently, his warm breath catching the chilly air in a puff of steam, and stared skyward into the cloudy evening.

He was sitting on a rock among the many dead bodies laying at his feet. He had been in an intense killing spree and only just avoided being stabbed and beaten to death by the many swords and lances that came his way. He was battered and bruised from head to toe, dirt and blood covered every square inch of his skin and chainmail, but he was very much alive as far as he could tell.

He was all alone, with only the dead bodies for company.

Arthur shuddered as more horrible memories cram into his skull. He placed a gloved hand on his temple and massaged it in an attempt to soothe the pain, but ended up leaving behind fragments of dirt crusting his brows.

He scowled and cursed under his breath. No, this wasn't any better. The memories were still there, taunting him like a jester at a circus. Or better yet, something akin to a certain young servant sending teasing remarks at him at quick-fire speed.

Arthur smiled a little at the latter. As much as he didn't like to admit it, he missed the boy. _Man_, he corrected. He is a changed _man_.

Memories of his loyal manservant briefly sprung to mind, from when they first met to the present day. Once a feeble and cowardly boy had now turned into a brave, optimistic and overprotective man. One thing that never seemed to change was the occasional snide remark being thrown in his direction, which would normally lead to him being pelted in his bony cheeked face by something solid.

Good times.

Now?

Merlin has changed. Well, not completely! His usual cheekiness was still there. However, he has become somewhat clingy overtime, in a sense that he has this sudden burning passion within him, and that is to protect Arthur at all costs, no matter how dangerous a situation could potentially get. It can get annoying from time to time, but despite this, Arthur couldn't help but be grateful for someone looking out for him, especially someone who is able to possess powerful magic within his grasp.

_**Magic!**_

How was Merlin able to hide such power so well? Arthur would've noticed in an instant, even around the time his father was alive to witness it. Yet somehow they'd both been blind not to notice it! Magic is normally seen as a source of evil. Now upon thinking about how much good Merlin had done for him all these years started to make more sense than he realised. And putting those pieces together meant that Merlin had somehow secretly been using magic to protect him from harm. That is a surprising amount of dedication to a royal he'd ever seen in an often clumsy but meaningful servant.

Arthur still missed him all the same. He missed the lighthearted banter they shared between them. He missed Merlin's cheeky quips. And he most certainly missed having a shoulder to lean on in times of trouble and doubt.

Arthur brought his grimy gloved hands up to his forehead and lets another puff of warm air escape into the bleak darkness. He really wished his servant - a _sorcerer_, don't forget! - was by his side right now, not knowing that his presence had been looming over him all this time.

All he could do was pray, pray that Merlin would be okay, pray that he himself would be okay, and pray for this wretched battle to be over.

The king's respite was interrupted by a distant crunch of gravel from behind. All happy memories of the servant immediately evaporated and were replaced with the horrible ones he'd been meaning to avoid for a while. He knows what's to come, so he heaves in a shaky breath, lets it go through his nostrils, and slowly rises to face the unnerving tenebrosity amongst the curtain of light mist.

In approached a familiar face of who was once a loyal and trustworthy knight of the Round Table, now that of a barbarous maniac and the king's greatest rival.

_Mordred_.

That name alone caused Arthur's spine to tingle, no longer in a good way. He was the young knight responsible for betraying him for the imprisonment and execution of their beloved.

The boy hardly had any filth splattered along his chainmail. He was mostly clean; save his black boots, which were scuffed from scurrying and slipping over his feet. His skin had slightly blackened over his pale complexion through his exposure to smoke, his hair was static and matted in curls, and his sword, a gooey and contaminated red from previous victims, glinted in the moonlight. Bags line under his sockets, though his expression remained resolute rather than ready to collapse into the gravel. His breathing was unusually stable for someone who fought with masses of armies on the opposite side of the conflict, and he somehow had the strength to prepare for one last battle; this being against his foe, the king of Camelot himself.

Arthur did not so much as hesitate when he strode towards his sworn enemy. His right hand gripped firmly around the golden hilt of his mighty sword Excalibur, preparing himself to strike when necessary.

This was his chance to put an end to all of this madness. He didn't want to - he feared what might happen - but he had to, for the good of the kingdom. This was his destiny after all, his destiny to become the greatest king Albion has ever known, as foretold in the ancient Prophecy. Though a bit shaky at first, he had proven this fact time and again. It was about time he needed to prove himself once more before making his mark on history.

The two knights stood for a moment, courageous blue eyes fixed on piercing blue ones. Then, without warning, Mordred swings his sword forwards, but was quickly cut off by Excalibur's blade clashing against it. A bright spark shot off the two weapons like an exploding firework when they made contact. Mordred snorted as he lowered his sword and tried again, aiming to trip the king off his feet. He was once again swiftly cut off by Excalibur. Arthur dove his weapon downwards from above his head, but Mordred successfully blocked his counter-attack against his own sword.

Another sequence of thrusts and blocks followed. Their feet skipped backwards and forwards onto the moist gravel with every hit and miss they threw at each other, and not once did they lose sight of one another throughout the fight.

They were both expert swordsmen. They never miscalculated a move, not even once. They were trained knights from different backgrounds, one from a royal father and one from just merely observing the king's men slaughter bandits in a forest.

As the battle became more heated, thunder rumbled around them and rain began spitting at their faces. They didn't seem to notice nor care as their only focus was a deadly gamble of who would rise from the depths of the piling corpses victorious.

Swords continued clashing ferociously under the drizzle. Sweat popped out of their pores and cheeks burn through the pressure, though neither of them are the least bit exhausted, nor were they ready to call it a truce.

They were soon neck and neck with each other, blades practically pointing at their Adam's apples. It seemed like the fight would last forever. Until...

Everything suddenly ground to a halt.

The fighting ceased.

And it was all because of...

A small grunt from Arthur signalled his eventual downfall, for he was viciously stabbed in the stomach by Mordred's sword. He froze in place for a moment, feeling the burning sensation course through his body. Mordred yanked his sword out and seemed to wordlessly admire the fresh coat of red paint he'd spilt on his once faithful friend.

Arthur slumped onto one knee, scrunching his eyes and baring his teeth into a grimace. His head bowed down and his free hand pressed on the wound, and each time he applied pressure on it, blood trickled between his leathered fingers. He needn't flick his eyelids up to where his attacker stood; he could already feel the daggers pierce his spine, and he could imagine a face devoid of any emotion wash over it.

No fear. No shame. No remorse.

"You gave me no choice." Mordred muttered callously upon seeing a single tear sliding down the dethroned king's rosy cheek.

Arthur's head bent down even further into his knee as he felt a surge of anger beginning to boil in his gut. _Stand down, Mordred!_ he wanted to yell._ You've caused enough damage and unrest to the kingdom. Get on your knees and pray for mercy!_

Nothing came out. The searing pain was too much for him to utter a single word. It was already too late to make a biting comeback anyway, even if he did manage to speak. Mordred wasn't going to give up now, was he? He'd already won. So will the high priestess Morgana if she somehow gained the upper hand. The heroes shall fall and the enemies shall rise to gain the utmost power one could imagine.

Enemies united in treason. Heroes united in piles of ashes. The antagonistic dreams of a living Hell might very well come true.

Suddenly, the whole battlefield started to sway uncontrollably. Arthur's head thumped loudly, feeling the uncomfortable reverberations rattling around his skull and eardrums. His body arched, trying to steady itself, and his bloodied hand buried deep underneath a thick pile of mush, anticipating the nauseousness that waved through him. His vision blurred. His knees quivered. Bile crept up his throat.

He knows his life is debilitating by the second. It didn't, however, stop his anger and hatred from reaching its boiling point as his whole face reddened with rage. His breathing became progressively heavier and his quivering fist curled around Excalibur's hilt into as tight of a ball as he could make it. His eyelids twitched, his brows furrowed, and a threatening growl emitted deep within his throat.

Using the last atom of his strength, Arthur's trembling hand rose along with his body and shot downwards to stab his enemy's chest. The tip of the blade sliced through the skin with a vicious squelch. Mordred's fearless eyes widen as blood immediately spurted out of his mouth in short bursts. He couldn't stop the violent coughs forcing themselves out of the bloody waterfall cascading from between his lips.

Sunken eyes locked onto his prey, Arthur dove Excalibur into his chest once more, with much force than before. The blade rammed deeper into Mordred's ribcage, as if trying to make absolutely certain every living thing in his body will be gone forever. On the final yank, Arthur tosses his bloodied sword to the ground and grabs hold of Mordred's chainmail around his neck, watching intently at the colour slowly draining from his face. A feeble smile of redemption flickered on Mordred's face before consciousness slipped away from his grasp and Arthur lets go of him, watching him fall backwards into his own pool of blood.

Arthur stares down at the body, uncertain of what to do with it. He didn't know whether to feel thankful or shameful for what he'd done. One thing is for certain, Mordred's tyrannical behaviour has finally drawn to a close. However, the weight hadn't quite lifted off of his shoulders just yet, for he had the equally tyrannical sorceress and half-sister Morgana to face next.

Before he could wade through the sea of corpses to his intended destination, his legs suddenly buckled and he collapsed face first into some fresh puddles.

* * *

For a moment, he was faced with complete silence until the faint smell of embers suddenly attack his nostrils. Thinking he's being burned to death he snaps his eyes open, only to be greeted with almost complete darkness. Every other sense followed suit and rapidly became more and more known to him as his consciousness sluggishly crawls into view.

How long had he been asleep for? Was he even asleep to begin with? He couldn't quite remember.

He took the time to focus on his surroundings in hopes of bringing his memory back: He seemed to be in a forest of sorts, from what he could tell through bleary eyes. Trees crowded every corner of his vision, the grass was overgrown and painted in a sickly green, and the sky was that dark pigment of blue that indicated late nighttime. The strong whiff of smoke from earlier tickled his nose, pining for his attention, and he hears a crackling flame close to him.

Searching for the source of these sounds and smells, he spots a figure hunching over what appears to be a small campfire not too far away from him. The fire creates a soft yet faint, yellow halo around the figure. He squints his eyes, studying the figure the best he could: brown jacket, black hair, brown buckled boots, red neckerchief.

Can it be...?

"Merlin?"

Hearing the king's croaked voice, the figure turns around to find it is indeed the unmistakable face and appearance of his manservant Merlin. He shuffles towards the king, blue eyes alert and focused, and slender hands land on both of his shoulders.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice hushed, probably so as not to attract any unwanted attention that might give away their position.

Arthur tries to heave himself upright, but the pain he forgot he had immediately shoots up from his stomach and he winces, hissing through his teeth. His hand latched onto Merlin's sleeve for support as he tries and fails to sit up.

"Where have you-? AH! AH! AH!"

"Sssh! Lie back. Lie back." Merlin instructs as he gently places Arthur against the log. He examines Arthur's gash lining the side of his abdomen. A very clean cut, he assumed, judging by the way it'd pierced through the skin. The cut was fairly large, large enough for a sharp weapon to slice through, so it wasn't any surprise that blood can still be seen seeping out of it and soaking his chainmail. "You're bleeding. Keep as still as you can to stop the flow."

Arthur was in no mood to throw any dry comments, so he manages a grunt in affirmation.

Silence hangs in the air as the young sorcerer whips out a piece of cloth from his satchel and sets to work dressing the wound as carefully as he could. Arthur gave an occasional moan every time he puts a touch of pressure against it, but managed to conceal himself from howling in pain. He averts his eyes from the fountain of blood to focus on Merlin's, which twinkle serenely under the reflection of stars. A streak of gold aura simmered around his pupils in a faint glimmer. Arthur was surprised they weren't bright and glowing, as they should be whenever Merlin casts a spell with a simple stare or a flick of a wrist or even both. Yet they were calm and unperturbed.

"Why don't you use your magic?"

Merlin stalls for a moment, then resumes his duty. He'd completely forgotten he revealed his magic to Arthur prior to the battle. He glances over at the king and shrugs. "Habit, I suppose. It feels strange, but it's better this way. It's much safer. Saves me the trouble of being caught and burnt at the stake."

Once he'd finished binding, Merlin tightens the cloth into a neat bow and takes a step back to admire his handy work. A blotch of blood was already visible on the material, but he didn't care; so long as the cloth was sturdy enough around the king's torso that's all that mattered.

"Right, you're all done. I just need to bring Gaius over to inspect you in the morning."

Arthur peers down at the cloth, then shoots a quizzical gaze at him. "Are you bonkers? Have you forgotten that there's still a battle going on out there?"

"Yes, I am aware. Which is why I took you somewhere far away from Camlann so we would less likely become, you know, caged fodders."

"You mean to say...you carried me all this way...?"

"Mm hmm."

"Single-handedly?"

"Yep."

Reading the flabbergasted expression on Arthur's face, Merlin couldn't help but chuckle. "As I said, I have many talents." He places a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll be safe here. For now, anyway. Trust me."

Arthur snorted. "Coming from a sorcerer, I shouldn't. But, since you seem to know what you're doing, I _might_ be inclined to put my trust in you. I suppose I should give you some credit at least for all that you've done for me."

Finally! Someone's giving the young sorcerer some praise for once. It seems like all of his hard work paid off after all...eventually! Another brilliant beam tugged at his lips upon realising this.

Now it was Arthur's turn to chuckle, though tiredly. Oh, how he missed this! How he missed that excitable face, Merlin's key feature along with his snide remarks and witty banter.

Five long days without seeing him by his side - even hearing him - was impossible to think about, even at times when Arthur wanted to go alone on perilous quests. He could consider waking up to see Merlin sitting by the campfire a blessing of sorts. What for exactly, he didn't know. He was just glad to have someone to talk to again, someone to look after him.

Where had he been all this time? Not the tavern, that's for certain! Didn't he mention something about getting "vital" supplies for Gaius? Merlin was a terrible fibber, Arthur noted, but somehow, the pleading desperation that crossed the man's face seemed genuine. Somehow. Arthur wasn't sure why. The man actually backed out, _sacrificed_ himself, possibly in fear of his own safety when going to confront the likes of Morgana and her army.

Sure, he was a coward and works with two left feet most of the time as he had done on his first day of manservant duties, but come on. He's a flipping sorcerer, for crying out loud! He uses his bare hands and an icy stare as his weapons of choice. If that's the case, why couldn't he have been at Arthur's side and used his magic to protect him when the battle started? And, most importantly, why couldn't he have used it to fight against Morgana? Surely it wouldn't be too hard to give it a go, would it?

Another pounding headache demolished Arthur's thoughts and he lets out a guttural moan in response to this. It also didn't help that, coupled with the thumping in his cranium, he felt the pain from his abdomen creeping up his veins to haunt him again.

Merlin brings Arthur's head against the log again and places a hand on his pale, clammy forehead. No warmth whatsoever came out of it, to his shock. The king was frozen stiff, and he was too weak to produce enough energy to shiver. Merlin promptly slips his brown jacket off and places the opening over Arthur's body. Arthur rejected the offer at first, but, feeling how effectively warm this flimsy item of clothing really was, he begrudgingly changed his mind.

"Why...?"

"I can't help it. You're cold. You're the only friend I've got and I don't want to lose you."

Arthur smiled weakly, touched by the comment.

With a turn of the heel, Merlin started making his way over to the corner of the campfire to where his belongings lay scattered in a tidy bundle.

"Oi! I'm not done with you yet." Arthur teased, stretching his right foot to trip Merlin over, only managing to brush the boot against his trouser leg. The young sorcerer turns around, briefly glances down at the now muddied brush stroke on his leg, and stares at the king curiously, who was giving him a groggy but playful grin.

"Where did you get your magic from?"

Merlin hesitates, his face softening. He looked reflective. Expressionless but seemingly reflective. Noticing this, Arthur clears his throat. "If you don't mind me asking, of course."

The wheels were still turning in Merlin's head, probably thinking about choosing his words carefully before addressing to the king. He then strides back over to crouch before him. Once again, his voice was hushed, but was even quieter than last time, so Arthur had a job listening to what he was saying.

"I was born with it. I inherited it from my father. I don't know him that well, but I know that deep down he was a good man who did good to the world, even if some people nowadays don't believe that to be the case anymore."

"You learnt from him?"

The young sorcerer scrunches his face up. "I don't know. I don't think I was taught any spells. The magic just...came to me naturally. I could only assume it's a genetic thing passed down from generation to generation. I can't imagine a life without powers. If I hadn't any, well...who knows what I would've ended up being. I'd probably be a failure! I would have trouble protecting you."

Arthur looked down, nodded in quiet understanding, and looked back up. "So, where is he now? Your father, I mean."

"...He's dead."

Merlin's low, slightly shaky voice caused Arthur's breath to catch in his throat, and he felt a touch of pity flourish within him. He remembered the time he lost his own father Uther to a petty gleeman. Worst of all, the event occurred on the day of his birthday, meaning he wasn't able to enjoy the festivities if an overwhelming feeling of remorse obstructed it. Instead of smiles and cheering, he was left with nothing but a sense of dread and quiet contemplation. Maybe that was how Merlin felt when his father died. That, he can truly comprehend.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Arthur mumbled through embarrassed jaws.

"It's not your fault. It's just..." Merlin sighed, fighting the urge not to shed any tears in front of the king. "I long for the days where I could...get a chance to...to see his face again. To thank him for this special gift I hold in my hands. It was here, in this very forest, at this very spot, that I last saw him. As I said, I didn't really know him that well as I was...only a child. But-" His watery eyes locked with Arthur's pale ones once more and smiled. "-I was proud of him. I wanted him to be proud of me."

Another knowing nod was received from Arthur.

Silence filled the air again. Merlin took this opportunity to shuffle a little closer to the fire and hang his head in silent mourning. His eyes were closed, allowing his mind to process the saddening memories of his father. Arthur watched him, pity swelling in his gut.

After a long moment, when Merlin opens his eyes, he catches Arthur yawning. He sighed in defeat and pats his friend's shoulder. "Yeah, me too. Get some rest."

He strode back over to the other side of the campfire to where his tidy pile of belongings laid waiting for him. He unpacked a single blanket and opened it out on the bed of grass. As he got himself comfortable, heavy breathing can just be heard over the crackling fire. Thinking it was a bandit sneaking up on him, he glanced over to find the sound was from Arthur, who was fast asleep. His expression was in a state of tranquility, almost peaceful. His chest heaved in and out with every breath he held in and released.

The warmth of Merlin's jacket must've knocked the poor king unconscious. It wasn't surprising given his depleting energy.

He deserves it. He needs to regain his strength.

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**Author's Notes**

**FUN FACTS:**

**1) I had this idea when I rewatched the whole series of Merlin again and finished it in a span of just under five weeks. I was disappointed with the fact that there wasn't an epic fight between Arthur and Mordred, so I added it into this story, plus a few extra changes, such as Merlin revealing his magic prior to the battle (unseen, only mentioned).**

**2) As you can probably tell, I love the word "tenebrosity", which is a word that describes the quality of something being dark or shadowy. I love the sound of it too. It sounds mysterious. I've been itching to use it for a long time and I thought it appropriate to use it.**

**3) ****Keen Merlin fans will have noticed that I wedged in a couple of quotes from a deleted scene from Series 4. It was the one where Merlin mentioned his father Balinor while out camping.**

**4) ****In case I didn't make it clear for you, the mysterious "beloved" mentioned at the beginning is Kara. That's what her name means in Italian. Kara = "Beloved". ****See what I did there? ;)**

**...**

**If you're curious as to why the next chapter of _A Budding Romance_ isn't uploaded yet, it's still being written. Don't worry, it'll be finished _really_ soon, I promise! But for now, I'll leave it until around about February.**

**Until next time, ta ta!**

**GP99**


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